


And the Tough Guys Tumble

by captainshellhead, vibraniumstark



Category: Avengers (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Iron Man (Comic), Marvel 616
Genre: Dimension Travel, Extremis, Getting Together, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Feels, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:50:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainshellhead/pseuds/captainshellhead, https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibraniumstark/pseuds/vibraniumstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're not getting better, are you?" Steve asked, reaching out to stop him.</p><p>“No, I’m not.”</p><p>What-if in which Tony doesn’t just simply reboot to get rid of the Harvester at the end of Captain America and Iron Man: One Night in Madripoor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [And the Tough Guys Tumble by captainshellhead, vibraniumstark（翻译by芮球）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874923) by [Rachel_Er](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachel_Er/pseuds/Rachel_Er)



> You will still understand if you haven’t read the issues it’s based on (633-635), because the first part has pretty much everything you’ve missed, but I suggest you read or reread it even if you have already, because Steve and Tony honestly can’t keep their hands to themselves.
> 
> Also, if this first chapter looks familiar to some of you--that’s because it is ;)

Steve was exhausted. When he’d planned this little operation, he’d known that they’d run into complications. In his experience, nothing was ever easy, _especially_ when he’d come up with a solid plan. So when he’d run into his target Kashmir Vennema almost immediately, he’d automatically known that something was about to go very, very wrong.

Of course, that was when the auctioneer introduced the Harvester Protocol, which Kash and her hired hands then proceeded to unleash before disappearing with the intentions to sell the technology to AIM. Steve failed to be surprised. It had proved to be a real threat, though. In addition to corrupting any technology it came into contact with, the virus also analyzed and stored information and schematics on everything it destroyed.

Considering that it had infected nearly every technology within the very prolific weapons exposition they’d found it in—including the Iron Man armor—they’d had no choice but to track it down, and fast, before the information could get into the wrong hands.

It was well into the evening when Tony finally managed to pinpoint the source of the energy signature the virus steadily emitted. By the time MODOK and his goons had been taken care of, and they’d safely handed Vennema off to the proper authorities, Steve wasn’t sure whether he could still call it the middle of the night, or if early morning was more accurate.

He just wanted to go home, but again—too easy.

The Quinjet that they’d flown here on this morning had been affected by the Harvester, suffering from the same electronics failure as the rest of the city. On the one hand, it wouldn’t take that long to get it back online—Tony had programmed the device he’d brought with him to the expo (the Pym-Stark Myriad Engine, he’d called it) to kick out little wasp-shaped drones to negate the effects of the virus.

The drones were steadily making their way through the city with the anti-virus, slowly bringing the city back to life, prioritizing the more important technologies like the hospitals and infrastructure. It was going to take hours. Still, once the Quinjet was operational again they’d still have the flight home, which would be a good several hours more.

Honestly, Steve just wanted to sleep and start again tomorrow. Luckily, Tony had reserved his usual hotel room when they’d decided to case the weapons expo, just in case anyone decided to look into his appearance a little further. They’d checked in and left their belongings there earlier that morning, after Tony had outfitted Steve with the sub-dermal image inducer and identification he’d used to smuggle him into the weapons expo.

Normally Steve would have suggested that they stay at his safe-house in Lowtown and go back for the rest of their belongings in the morning, but since it had been compromised (and torn apart) by a run in with Batroc’s Brigade anyway, he’d given in and agreed to head back to the hotel instead. They’d probably be more comfortable in the fancy hotel room, anyway.

There were still plenty of people on the streets, though this district seemed to be a bit quieter in comparison to the nightlife he could see a couple of streets down. The night was cooler than expected, and Steve was thankful for it. He took a deep breath to clear his head before trailing after Tony through the crowds of people still indulging in the nightlife. He followed Tony out to the street to hail a cab.

Tony’s expression was tight as he climbed into the cab, mouth pressed into a firm line that Steve had learned years ago meant he was suppressing a wince. Steve frowned but kindly didn’t comment as he climbed in after him. They’d both been through several fights and a crash landing today, and Steve didn’t think Tony would appreciate him pointing out his injuries right now.

“Hightown, Sovereign Hotel,” Steve told the driver instead. He’d ask how Tony was fairing when they were settled into their hotel room. Steve hadn’t seen him take any serious injuries, but he couldn’t be sure.

He’d had to leave Tony alone to face MODOK and his cronies when Vennema had tried to make a break for it. It wasn’t an easy decision for him, despite Tony’s assurances that he’d be fine in a matter of minutes. He’d still been infected with the Harvester Virus at the time, wearing a crude parody of the Iron Man armor assembled from prototype weapons being shown at the expo. By the time Steve returned, Tony had managed to reboot his real armor (and save the day, just as he’d promised when Steve left him), but the improvised armor he’d been wearing was a mess—a testament to how hard-fought his win had been.

The cab pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel, and Steve thrust a handful of bills at the cabbie without bothering to count them. He ushered Tony out of the cab with a hand on his elbow. Most of the lights on this street were still corrupted by the Harvester virus, but the lobby was well lit when they pushed through the doors. Tony made a bee-line for the bank of elevators on the far wall, and Steve trailed behind slowly, noting a few stray drones that had already managed to make it this far across the city buzzing around the computers at check-in.

Tony mashed the button with his thumb just as a throat cleared behind them. They turned to greet the employee who had sidled up behind them, an apologetic look on his face.

“Um, sirs, excuse me, but…” the bellhop wrung his hands together nervously in front of him, looking very much like he expected violence. “The, uh, the elevators are offline,” he said. The man was all elbows and knees, leaning forward as though attempting to look unassuming. Steve wondered how many other’s he’d broken this news to, and how many hadn’t taken it well.

Tony blinked at him.

“You’re kidding me,” Tony said, voice completely flat. The man winced with sympathy. Their room was on the 47th floor. Tony turned his gaze from the elevator to Steve and back, then groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“We’re sorry for the inconvenience. If there’s anything we can do…” The man offered hurriedly. Tony waved him off.

“Not unless you’re gonna carry me up the stairs.” Tony eyed the stairwell entrance with distaste.

“But thank you,” Steve added. The man nodded and seized the opportunity to retreat, relief evident in his features. He’d probably seen his fair share of furious guests tonight. Steve turned back to Tony and gestured at the stairs, stopping to hold the door for him, “Shall we?”

“Fine,” Tony grumbled, peering up the spiral stairwell. He made a face. “I nominate Vennema for the _Supervillain of the Year_.”

Steve followed his gaze. The floors seemed to spiral upward unendingly.

“I could get behind that.”

 

 

Tony has huffing by the 22nd floor. A few years ago, Steve might have teased that he needed to hit the gym more often, work a few more sparring sessions into his schedule. Tony would give as good as he got while Steve waited patiently for the man to catch his breath, completely unfazed by the workout due to the serum.

That was before he’d injected himself with Extremis.

Now Tony had grown himself an entirely new body, complete with new set of lungs and heart. He was in pretty good shape, and while it couldn’t quite keep up with Erskine’s formula in that respect, Tony wasn’t so much of a slouch that the stairs would give him trouble at the pace they were going. The realization made Steve pause.

Tony huffed and irritated sigh and tried to push past where Steve had stilled on the stairs, shooting him a warning look as though to ask him not to mention it. Steve wasn’t going to be deterred, though, as he reached out and stopped him with a hand on his elbow.

Tony fixed him with a glare, chin tipped up defiantly as though gearing up for a fight. Steve bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to let his own irritation at Tony’s stubbornness bleed through into his voice.

“Are you all right?” Steve asked, voice stern to make it clear he expected a real, honest answer. He really wasn’t in the mood for Tony’s penchant for playing down injuries.

“I’m fine, Steve. Just leave it,” Tony replied, breath still coming a little too quick. “I wasn’t expecting the cardiac stress test, is all.”

“You don’t look fine,” Steve said, ignoring Tony’s attempt to play his condition off with a joke. If Steve didn’t know any better he’d say that he looked even worse than earlier, when they were getting their asses kicked. Beyond being short of breath, he was sweating, looking a little too pale.

“The virus is just…wearing me down. It’s really not that big of a deal—”

“ _Is_?” Steve cut in. “As in, currently? Tony, I thought you said that your little…robot bugs took care of the virus already.” Tony flinched, clearly not having meant to let that slip. He looked chagrined for a moment, crossed his arms in front of himself.

Steve gave him a pointed look and refrained from making a remark, not wanting to give Tony the opportunity to change the topic. He didn’t understand why Tony always felt the need to hide things from him. He’d tried not to take it personally, but when it came down to it the only explanation Steve could come up with was that Tony didn’t trust him. He couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. Tony scrubbed a hand over his face, looking resigned.

“I did. They did. It’s just…I outfitted the drones to attack and destroy the Harvester virus, but I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to actually _reprogram_ the Pym-Stark Myriad Engine between putting together some makeshift armor back at the Expo and coming to save your ass from Batroc the Loser at the safe house, so I just sorta…set it to attack the virus’s nanoware, instead, which just so happens to be a major component of the Extremis too—”

“Tony!” Steve looked mildly horrified. “You programed thousands of self-replicating hornets to _eat you_ —”

“They’re not going to _eat me_ , Steve, give me a little credit,” Tony snapped, suddenly on the defensive. “They don’t like the frequency that I’ve got the Extremis emitting. So long as it’s running they won’t come near me... It’s like really high-tech bug spray, if you overlook the fact that they’re actually not bugs. And it not actually a spray. Details.”

“Well you’ve got time now. Can’t you fix it? Program it better or something?” Steve asked. Steve was sure that Tony had already thought of any suggestion he could come up with, but he couldn’t help himself. Tony gave him an impatient look.

“Not without stopping them from distributing the anti-virus first, and that’s more important. It’s fine, Cap. It’s not gonna kill me. Extremis will take care of it on its own eventually, like it would any other biological virus,” Tony said wearily. “Think of it as a glorified cold. It’s fine.”

“Were you planning on telling me any of this?” Steve crossed his arms to keep from clenching his fists at his sides, mirroring Tony’s pose.

“Why? So you could make sympathetic eyes at me? It’s none of your business, anyway,” Tony snapped. Steve might have been able to agree with him, if he didn’t sound so petulant about it. As it was, it sounded more like an excuse.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, whether you’re fighting fit is just as much my concern as it is yours,” Steve pointed out.

“For Christ’s sakes, Cap, give it a rest! We’re going to bed, not to battle!” Tony shouted, and his voice echoed through the stairwell, seeming to resonate for a moment. He fixed him with another cold stare, jaw set, before wheeling back around and starting up the stairs again. Steve stared at the back of his head angrily for a moment before shaking his head and following, trying not to give in to the gnawing worry in his gut.

 

 

 

Tony couldn’t be more thankful that the hotel had gone with old-fashioned, ornate lock and key for their rooms. He’d kicked the door aside without much fuss, leaving it to hang open so that Steve could follow him through.

Steve had trailed silently behind Tony the entire length of the stairwell, and by the time they’d reached their floor Tony was sure that he should have a hole burned through the back of his skull. Whatever. Steve could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be.

Tony kicked off his shoes and flopped down onto the bed immediately, making a noise between pain and pleasure when he hit the sheets. It was the only bed in the suite (but it was enormous, and Tony made a point to spread his limbs as wide as possible, just to rub it in), and he planned on keeping it to himself. Steve was being an ass, so Steve could sleep on the lumpy pull out couch…not that he’d want to sleep in the same bed as Tony, anyway.

Maybe that was petty, but Tony didn’t really care. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him as he puttered around the suite, getting ready for bed. Tony couldn’t bring himself to object, because doing so was sure to start up another argument that he really didn’t have the energy for.

The clock on the nightstand was stuck blinking on 12:00 am, so he pulled up the Extremis feed to check the news and the time. He regretted it immediately, as a sharp pain lanced behind his eyes and made his stomach roil with renewed strength. He managed to not groan as he forced the information away again; didn’t want to give Steve the satisfaction (even though Steve was too good a man to take any satisfaction in that, he knew that, that wasn’t the point).

The Extremis still wasn’t working, then. Tony had hoped that it would cooperate more fully once he’d given his body some time to reset. Now it looked like he’d just have to wait until he was rid of the virus entirely, and avoid using Extremis as much as possible until then. Especially with the armor. Using the Extremis to control the armor after rebooting had been a real treat—one he was none-too-eager to repeat. Tony curled up under the blankets and willed the ache in his bones to calm enough for him to get comfortable.

Tony watched Steve unfold the couch, and then wrapped an arm possessively around his pillows—all four of them—when Steve turned his way. Steve huffed and turned riffle through the dresser under the television. After Steve found a spare set of pillows in one of the drawers, Tony waited until he had walked all the way across the room before he flicked off the lights with Extremis (despite the little headache it spurred) just so that he could hear the irritated little breath when he had to stumble back to his bed sightless, and just so that he could smirk, triumphant and, yes, a little petty, into the dark.

 

 

  
When Tony woke again, it was still dark outside. He considered bringing up a clock to check the time, but with last night still fresh in his mind he decided that another attempt was probably inadvisable, at least this early in the morning. It couldn’t be any later than seven, judging by the lack of sunlight through the window. Tony felt like he’d hardly gotten any sleep at all.

Actually, he _felt_ like he’d been hit by a truck. He wasn’t surprised, with his immune system working to fight off a pretty nasty bug, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant to experience. He had spent the better part of an hour trying to will himself to sleep last night (long after Steve’s breath had evened out—the man had fallen asleep almost as soon has his head hit the pillow).

It was difficult to turn his brain off normally, but he felt empty without the familiar buzz of Extremis at the back of his mind, stuck alone with his own thoughts. Piled on top of a skull-splitting headache that had taken far too long to fade, he’d been in for a rough night.

Tony pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the brief feeling of dizziness as he climbed the rest of the way out of bed. Steve was still sound asleep on the pull-out couch, shield propped against the coffee table, just within reach. The pull-out was a bit too small for him, and now that Tony had time to get over his irritation from last night he felt a little guilty for making him use it. Not that it could have been helped. Tony hadn’t actually been planning on using the room when he reserved it, and there was only the one bed.

Steve looked much more relaxed that he had last night, though. Tony had long since grown accustomed to the ever-present worry lines that Steve had developed in the years after the ice, but even the most prominent lines seemed softer, like the only time he could truly allow himself to relax was when he slept.

Tony suspected that if there was a way to worry in your sleep, Steve would find it. Until then, he’d let him sleep a little longer. Tony could feel the beginnings of a headache building once again, and he doubted he could get back to sleep if he tried. For a brief moment his gaze flicked to the minibar, before he turned pointedly away, rubbing absently at his temple to dull the tension. After a moment of indecision he headed for the door, stopping briefly to straighten himself in the mirror and run a hand through his hair.

He could just use the phone in the room, or Steve’s cell phone, but he didn’t want to wake Steve and he _did_ want to see how difficult the Extremis was going to be to use. Besides, his head was going to ache regardless, so he may as well get some work done. Start small, just a phone call to check in with the Avengers, let them know that they’d taken care of Vennema. No big deal.

He closed the door as quietly as he could as he padded out into the hallway. Steve was a light sleeper, a habit from his life before going down in the ice, and there was no need for him to be awake while Tony tried to call home.

The hall was mostly empty. He could see the room service cart standing outside one of the rooms, but all the doors were closed. On the other end of the hallway, there were two men standing in front of their door, near the entrance of the stairs. They eyed Tony nervously, pointedly turning their bodies away while they continued their conversation. They looked a bit shady, dressed in suits a bit too cheap for this part of town, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Madripoor was famous for their _laissez-faire_ market, and it made the island a haven for those who operated in the gray areas of the business world. No one cared what you did in this city, so long as you didn’t upset the status quo. Tony saw this sort—and much, much worse—every time he visited, even in a reasonably high-end hotel such as this.

Tony ignored them and instead opened the feed. For a moment there was just static, empty of any data or sensory input. But when he pushed a little further, a stab of pain spiked behind his right eye, and he quickly slammed the feed closed again. Tony let out a little angry huff. _Still not working, then_.

He tried not to be disappointed. It had been a long shot, anyway. Tony didn’t actually have a cell phone on him, since he hadn’t been expecting Extremis to go out of commission. He’d seen several phones he could use down in the lobby, though, so he headed over to the elevator bank. The two businessmen got suspiciously quiet when he was within earshot—one of them actually started whistling, _good lord_ —but the thought of laughing at their failed attempt at subtlety was quickly replaced by relief when he found the elevators were online again.

The lobby was busier than it had been last night (this morning?), but not by much. The employee hovering by the elevators—a different man than they’d had running interference last night—offered to show him to one of the private conference rooms when he’d asked to use a phone. He’d agreed to that, pausing for a moment to pick up a complimentary coffee on the way.

They’d left Carol in charge when they left for Madripoor, and for a moment Tony considered just calling her directly. Ultimately he decided against it. It was a little after seven in the morning now, which would make it…still early in the evening back in New York. He tried the tower anyway, half expecting to have his call ignored. He was only a little surprised when Jarvis answered instead.

“Is Carol in?” he asked without preamble, though he already suspected that she wasn’t.

“She and the rest of the Avengers have gone to assist with a…minor incident at the Baxter Building. She assured me it was not serious enough to warrant requesting your assistance,” Jarvis confirmed, and Tony couldn’t help the small smile that quirks his lips. At least he didn’t have to deal with that. Small blessings.

“Have her give me a call as soon as she gets back?” He gave Jarvis their room number.

“Certainly, sir. And, if I may,” Jarvis paused, as though he would actually refrain from finishing the thought if Tony told him to, “are you all right?”

Tony smiled fondly. “Fine, Jarvis. Just tired.”

He paused again, clearly seeing through the lie, and for a moment Tony expected more nagging. Instead he simply responded with, “Very good, sir. Give Captain Rogers my regards.”

The way he’d said it made Tony feel distinctly as though Jarvis was teasing him. Tony didn’t know why he would be, though, and more importantly, he didn’t want to think about where Jarvis would have gotten the idea that there was reason to tease, because that would prove that he was far more see-through than he wanted to admit. He agreed and hung up the phone slowly, staring at where it sat in the cradle for a moment before heading back to the elevators, coffee in hand.

One of the men was gone when he made it back to his floor, although the other was now talking to a very scantily clad woman. Tony smirked—that certainly explained why they’d looked so nervous when he first saw them…as though he actually cared who they were sleeping with. The escort swiveled to flash Tony a coy smile as he passed, which he returned with a wink, mostly for the put-out look that appeared on the man’s face. She actually looked vaguely familiar—a thought he was certainly _not_ going to share with the class, because honestly, people would assume things. It didn’t sit quite right, though, because he would never dream of hiring her (not interested, despite what the tabloids might say, and even if he’d wanted to, god, Pepper would have killed him), so he couldn’t place where they’d met.

He was slotting his key into the lock on his door when he realized where he recognized her from—the expo—and Tony whirled back around just in time see the fist coming at his face. He shouted in surprise and ducked out of the way. The man’s hand cracked off the door, and he howled in pain as Tony planted a knee in his stomach.

The second man from earlier reappeared and slammed into his side. They both went down, the man’s hand fisted around his tie, and his coffee splashed across the wall. Although he’d never admit it, he wasn’t so proud that he wouldn’t fight dirty when he was outnumbered, so when he started to fall, teeth clenched, Tony made sure to grab a fistful of hair and yank. The move served to piss the man off more, and he made a sloppy attempt at a head-butt, forehead slamming into the ridge of Tony’s right eye, before he landed on top of him, effectively pinning him to the ground.

He landed hard on his back, the breath left him and it _hurt_ , it was dizzying, and it was all he could do to bring up an arm to protect his face when the thug pulled back for another punch.

Tony saw the shield before he registered the door slamming open. He flinched and it slammed violently into the back of the man’s skull. He slumped forward on top of Tony, raised arm falling limp at his side. The other thug had exactly enough time for an outraged cry before Steve brought the shield around to slam into his face. The thug crumpled to the floor, and Steve’s knees almost hit the ground first as he dropped down next to Tony to throw the other man off of him.

Steve was a mess, hair sticking up slightly and eyes still red from sleep. He yanked Tony up by the collar, looking furious and concerned at the same time, and for a moment Tony was sure he was going to hit him, or at the very least start screaming. Instead he pulled him forward and smashed their lips together gracelessly. Their teeth clacked and Tony’s eyes widened, a surprised noise escaping him.

Steve was kissing him, and Tony’s first thought was _fuck, I’m hallucinating again_.

For a split second he was sure of it, because nothing else made sense. But he blinked, and Steve was still there, Steve’s lips on his, forceful but surprisingly chaste. Steve was leaning over him, so Tony brought his hands up between them, separating them before Steve came to his senses and did it himself. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Um,” Tony pushed him off entirely and immediately regretted doing it. He huffed, suddenly irrationally angry at Steve, because this was perfect and horrible all at once, it was exactly what he’d wanted and it was all going to fall apart, like always, and he was terrified to risk their friendship over this. He’d spent years telling himself that this was exactly what he could never have, and now Steve had to go and ruin that hard-built resolve. He clenched his fists to stop himself from pulling him back. “Just, what the fuck was— _Steve look out!_ ”

Steve whirled at Tony’s shout and raised the shield just in time to deflect a spray of bullets. The escort was standing at the end of the hallway, aiming a semi-automatic Tony was sure he’d seen on a rack at the Expo yesterday. Steve gripped him hard on the bicep and half dragged him back inside the door of their hotel room before he could even get to his feet properly.

One of the thugs was lying in such a way that he was making a very effective doorjamb, and Tony actually had to look twice to determine whether he was breathing, he was so still. Christ, Steve had done a number on his face, but only his nose was still bleeding sluggishly, so at least he hadn’t been hit by any stray bullets. As it was, they couldn’t actually close the door between them and Fishnet-Rambo down the hall, and another spray of bullets took out the back window of the room. Tony ducked reflexively, even though he was…fairly sure that the bullets wouldn’t make it through the wall. At least not right away, depending on what kind of toys she was using and how bad she wanted it.

He needed to do something; they were essentially backed into a corner. He couldn’t activate his armor, but maybe he could manage just one gauntlet…

“Tony, can we talk—” Steve started breathlessly, and Tony whipped around to gape at him incredulously. Steve looked…well, like he was already regretting kissing him, and fuck, he could not do this right now, he wasn’t sure he was ever ready to hear Steve tell him how much of a mistake he thought that was, but he certainly wasn’t ready for it now.

“Really? It can’t wait? We need to talk about this _right now_?” Tony evaded. He went back to glaring at his palm as though it would make the gauntlet respond— _c’mon c’mon you piece of shit_ —and fuck, his head hurt. The armor pooled in his hand like beads of mercury, refusing to take shape.

“We’re not avoiding this conversation, Tony,” Steve said, jaw set, and wow, okay, he was determined.

“I am a little preoccupied with avoiding the bullets!” Tony shouted. That seemed to be a good distraction, because Steve glanced back at the door as though he’d forgotten about the woman with the submachine gun steadily chewing through the wall between them. Steve huffed in irritation. Then he followed Tony’s gaze to his palm, nodded at it.

“Is that going to work?” Steve asked, sounding like he already knew the answer. Tony grit his teeth and shook his head.

“Where do you want me?” Tony asked instead, and the disappointment in Steve’s expression just proved to irritate him more. Steve seemed to pick up on that, thankfully, and said nothing. Instead, he glanced around, eyes finally landing at the man lying just outside the door. There was a gun clipped to his hip, and Steve’s hand flexed around the leather straps of the shield for a moment as he considered it.

He darted out with raised shield, the bullets clanging loudly off the surface as he grabbed the pistol. He actually tore through the leather holster with considerable strength in an effort to pull the gun back faster, not wanting to give the woman enough time to aim more fully at the parts not covered by the shield.

Steve handed Tony the gun solemnly, and he immediately busied himself with opening the chamber and checking how full the cartridge was. It was fully loaded save two shots, and Tony snapped it back into place deftly before looking back up to meet Steve’s gaze. Steve raised an eyebrow in question, silently asking whether Tony was okay with this plan.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t okay with any plan that involved using Steve as bait, but he knew, logically, that Steve would have an easier time dodging bullets if he wasn’t trying to fire them himself at the same time.

Tony nodded tightly, a little terrified with how much Steve trusted him, and even more terrified how long that would last after Steve realized what a bad bet Tony was. God, Tony was the one dragging their asses into the fire in the first place, and Steve would be taking the bullets—this was all a horrible metaphor for his life, and it hit pretty fucking close to home.

“Ready when you are,” Steve mouthed. Tony paused, waiting and listening for the end of another spray of bullets before signaling Steve to go.

Steve rolled out into the hallway, shield up in front of him to provide a target. She took the bait, turning her attention on him, letting loose a stream of gunfire and screaming obscenities. At the same time Tony threw himself down on the ground, trying to stay low to remain a smaller target. He landed heavily on his shoulder, but his grip on the gun didn’t waver as he lined up his shot.

He fired twice, the first barely clipping her arm and the second hitting her square in the shoulder. She wailed and fumbled the submachine gun for just a moment, but the two-handed weapon wasn’t designed to be fired with one, and the kick threw her aim. The slip gave Steve enough time to fling his shield, and it bounced perfectly off the wall to hit her in the side of the head. She went down in a heap.

Tony watched from the ground as Steve walked over to relieve her of her weapon. He paused long enough to tie her jacket around the wound on her shoulder before turning his attention to the other two. Tony was not even going to pretend to be interested in helping Steve clean up. Honestly, if he had his way, he’d just let the authorities handle it. They had no doubt been called during the firefight, and were probably en route now.

Tony was exhausted. He couldn’t remember being this bone-tired since before he’d injected himself with the Extremis. He’d spent a lot of his life feeling ill, with a weak heart and a compromised immune system and all the beatings he’d taken over the years. He’d thought that he was done with this when he’d reprogrammed himself. It was frustrating to be back to how he’d felt years ago, when he’d still needed to plug his chest plate into a wall to keep himself going.

He’d have almost preferred that, right now. At least then he’d actually have a way to fix his situation that didn’t involve orange juice and bed rest. Right now he really didn’t have any other options than to be patient and let his body overcome the virus on its own.

“You okay?” Steve asked, offering him a hand up. His tone of voice suggested that he was referring to more than just the fight, but he really didn’t know how to formulate a decent response. Tony took his hand and let Steve pull him to his feet effortlessly. Steve brought a hand up to ghost over the bruise around his eye, and Tony flinched away when he felt himself start to lean into the touch.

“Fine,” Tony said, brushing a hand absently over his forearms. Now that the immediate threat was out of the way, he was at a loss for what to say. Awkward was so far out of his comfort zone he didn’t even know where to begin—Tony Stark just didn’t _do_ awkward—so he did the responsible thing.

Pointedly ignore the problem.

“I gotta say, these are some low quality thugs,” Tony mused. “I’d have sprung for the Latverian guns-for-hire hanging out by the heavy artillery. They looked competent. Very surly.” Steve blinked at him, not following for a moment. He glanced back to study the men on the floor, before he understood.

“These people were at the expo,” Steve said. He nodded. Tony had recognized the woman from one of the displays he’d plundered for parts when he was making his replacement armor yesterday. Steve turned back to him. “What were you doing out here, anyway?”

“Checking in with the Avengers,” Tony replied. “I didn’t want to wake you… so, uh, sorry I woke you?”

Steve just shook his head, fixing him with that hard-set-jaw, and pinched glare that meant he was in trouble. Clearly, Steve was not pleased that Tony had left him to sleep, but at least he seemed to see there no point in arguing the matter, and had settled for silent disapproval. Instead he turned to survey the spray of bullet holes along the back wall of the suite.

“I’d like to know what they were after.”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t beaten them all into unconsciousness we could ask them,” Tony accused. For one fascinating moment Steve actually looked mollified, maybe even about to blush, but he settled on a sheepish shrug instead, toeing the nearest man with the inside of his boot. He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully.

“I got a little carried away,” Steve admitted plainly, but the words were loaded, expression partly a question and partly an apology. Tony kept his expression carefully indifferent, resisting the urge to flinch. Yeah. He’d just…gotten carried away, he hadn’t meant anything by it. Any of it.

If Steve wanted to just write that kiss off as in heat of the moment, well, Tony would let him.

“Right. Well. Tone it down a bit next time,” Tony responded flippantly, averting his gaze so he didn’t have to see the relief on Steve’s face. He brought an arm up to tug at his suddenly too-tight collar, cleared his throat, “I’m just gonna…” He made a vague gesture toward the bathroom.

“Oh. Okay, I’ll just…”Steve started, sounding sad or relieved he couldn’t tell, and Tony didn’t wait to hear the rest. He closed and locked the door behind him, resisting, just barely, the urge to bash his head against the tile. Tony could hear Steve hesitating outside. For a moment it sounded like he was coming closer. The footsteps stopped when the phone rang.

That was probably Carol. Tony wasn’t sure he wanted to go out there right now, so he left Steve to handle it as he started a scalding hot shower. The steam rolled past him in lazy waves, and Tony contemplated never getting out.

 

 

Steve sighed in irritation when the phone started to ring. It was probably the hotel staff calling to scream at him. He had half a mind to just let it ring, but then they’d just come up to scream at him in person. No doubt the police had been called already, so he was better off just getting it over with. He sat down on the edge of the bed and snatched it out of the receiver on its third ring, snapping a little louder than necessary.

“If this is about the gunfire—”

“Woah,” Carol cut him off, curiosity bleeding into her voice, “rough morning?”

“Carol.” Steve grinned, surprised. “You could say that. Sorry, I thought you were hotel staff.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Didn’t Tony call you earlier? Did something happen?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” she said. Steve raised an eyebrow, because from Carol he’d learned that usually meant ‘ _nothing globally threatening_ ’. He could imagine her shrugging nonchalantly. “Now, what’s this about gunfire?”

“A couple of men attacked Tony outside our room. I took care of them, and then while I, uh… when I went to see if he was all right their friend started shooting at us,” Steve said, “and before you ask, we’re fine.”

“Does this have anything to do with Vennema?” Carol asked. She sounded upset, and he didn’t blame her. When he’d put her in charge, Steve had insisted that he and Tony would be able to handle Vennema on their own—which, in fairness, they had. There was obviously something more at work, here, and Steve was sure that a couple of hired thugs were the least of their worries.

“I honestly don’t know. Maybe AIM, or someone else she worked with,” Steve replied. “They might be able to shed some light on things, but I doubt they’ll talk.” _Especially not right away_ , he thought blandly, leaning back to peer out into the hallway where he’d momentarily left them.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, then:

“Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to assemble the team?” she asked. Steve shook his head even though she couldn’t see the gesture. Even if they left now, they still wouldn’t be here until nighttime. Not to mention if half of New York’s superheroes showed up, whoever was after them was much more likely to disappear into the Madripoor underground than face them, and that was exactly what they _didn’t_ need right now.

“We can handle this,” Steve said. Or at least, he hoped.

“Be careful,” she said. Steve assured her once more that they were fine before voices in the hall drew his attention. From the sounds of it, the police had finally arrived. Steve sighed.

“The local police are here. I have to go take care of this.” Carol made a sympathetic noise and wished him luck as he hung up. Then, running a hand through his hair to make it a bit more respectable, he made his way to the hall to meet them.

 

 

Dealing with the hotel manager had been a mess. He’d insisted that Steve be arrested, first, and then that Steve had, in fact, been working alongside the assailants. It took twenty minutes of explaining what had happened, over and over, as well as an offer to pay for the damages before he’d finally calmed down. By then the police had already taken the thugs back to the precinct.

Tony was still in the shower, so he’d gone with them, promising himself that he would talk to him when he got back. They were none-too happy with having a “tourist” interrogating their prisoners, and were just as unimpressed with the fact that he was Captain America as the manager had been at the hotel. After hours of processing and paperwork, it still took a ridiculous amount of time convincing, and being bounced back and forth between superiors, before the local authorities finally agreed to let Steve talk to them.

It didn’t make much of a difference. Whoever they were, they were extremely loyal. Trying to get anything out of them proved to be a dead end.

Steve spent the whole cab ride back to the hotel thinking about what he was going to say to Tony. He hadn’t actually meant to kiss him in the hall. He just wasn’t thinking straight, snapping awake when he’d heard shouting in the hallway followed by something slamming into the door. He’d panicked and grabbed his shield the moment he realized Tony wasn’t in bed anymore. Tony was sick. He should have been in bed resting, anyway, so when he’d come outside to see Tony by the door, and the man on top of him…he’d seen red. He should have stopped himself, but Tony had looked so surprised to see him and he’d been so relieved that he was okay...

Now he didn’t know what to do. Tony hadn’t seemed too interested in talking about it, and Steve was beginning to worry that maybe it was because he didn’t want to have to reject him. After all, Tony was brilliant. He had parades of equally beautiful and intelligent women lining up on his doorstep. Steve was...not his usual type, in any case.

Steve justified stopping in the hotel bar to gather his thoughts, but not for too long. Someone was after them, and he had bigger things to worry about than what Tony had to say about him.

 

 

  
Tony woke up on the shower floor with the spray still streaming over him and no memory of how he’d gotten there. He blinked the water out of his eyes and clawed at the tap to shut the water off. He wasn’t sure whether it was from the heat or the exhaustion after an adrenaline crash or something else. He pointedly didn’t think about what that something else might be. He pushed himself to his feet, rubbing feebly at his aching side.

Thank god Steve was too busy avoiding him—or was he avoiding Steve?—to notice. Small favors.

When Tony finally stepped out of the shower, he was dizzy from the heat, his skin flushed pink (hopefully from water and not the beginnings of a fever, though he was already feeling unpleasantly warm earlier, so he was probably not so lucky). He paused at the bathroom door to listen. The room beyond was quiet, so he wrapped a towel around his waist and slipped out into the bedroom. It was empty. He assumed that Steve had gone to deal with the local authorities.

There was a stiff breeze in the room from the gaping hole in the back window, and bullets had peppered the pull-out couch as well as a large portion of the back wall, both now riddled with holes. The carpet was littered with stray flecks of glass. He tiptoed around them carefully, crouching down next to his suitcase to inspect the damage. He groaned and rolled it onto its side, causing little scraps of fabric to flutter out onto the carpet.

Bullets had chewed through most of the clothes, and he ripped the zipper open, dumping the contents out on the bed. Most of them were riddled with at least three or four bullet holes, one of his ties had been torn nearly in two. He dug through the pile, managed to find exactly two pairs of socks and a tie that had been spared in one of the side pockets. He scraped the whole lot back into the bag in irritation.

Tony eyed Steve’s bag where it was safely tucked against the wall, sighing. He and Steve were roughly the same height, though Steve was a little broader in the shoulders. The clothes should fit…and with his alternatives being bullet-riddled clothing or nudity, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

Miraculously, the mirror hanging by the dresser in the corner remained intact, and he stopped in front of it to study his reflection. His skin was still flushed, meaning he probably did have a fever, after all. The headache he’d been sporting had dulled, but not completely disappeared, and any of the adrenaline he’d benefitted from during the excitement earlier was long gone, leaving him aching and tired.

He had a long, ugly bruise where he’d landed on the ground, another where the man had _landed on him_ , and he could see the beginning of a shiner where he’d been head-butted. Having such superficial injuries last so long, or be so damn sore, after getting used to the Extremis was disconcerting, and he quickly turned away from the mirror.

He pulled out a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans out of Steve’s bag, paused at boxers—no, not going there—and tossed the lot up onto the bed. Tony pulled the clothes on roughly, and tried very hard to think of anything other than that they smelled like Steve. It made his stomach twist, and he was very viscerally reminded of how hot Steve’s mouth was, and how he’d smelled like leather and fresh soap even after just waking up—

Maybe he should have taken a cold shower instead.

 

 

Tony managed another hour of sleep, and he felt a little better when he woke. Still sore, but a little less feverish and no longer bone-tired, he forced himself to get up and grab the electric razor from his suitcase. He definitely needed a shave.

The bathroom floor was still wet, and Tony snatched a fresh towel off the rack. He brushed a thumb up over his cheek where the stubble was already growing out and grabbed his shaving kit. He took his time, and he was halfway done when he felt his eyes start to water. Tony sneezed.

Suddenly the razor was spitting sparks. He yelped and dropped it into the sink, where it hissed pathetically and began to smoke. Tony stared at it for a moment. That…he hadn’t expected that. When he’d told Steve that the Extremis would be able to take care of the virus he hadn’t thought he was lying. He’d honestly thought that after a night’s sleep he would be good as new. Now it was looking more like it was going to get worse before it got better.

It was also possible that it wasn’t just Tony’s ability to access Extremis that wasn’t working. He preferred not to think about that.

Tony went back to rooting through Steve suitcase and eventually found his razor. Thank god—going around lopsided would just be adding insult to injury. He went back to the bathroom. The razor in the sink had stopped sparking, so he picked it up and flipped the switch. It didn’t turn on—he hadn’t expected it to—and he tossed it on the counter so he could turn on the tap.

Tony needed some way to figure out what was wrong with Extremis. What he really needed was his lab, and probably a doctor, but admitting as much would mean getting himself benched. He sighed and rinsed the blade.

Tony heard the door to the room open from where he was standing in the bathroom. He couldn’t help but be tense, an irrational part of his mind wondering if the thugs from this morning had come back.

“Tony?” Steve called out to the empty room. Tony allowed himself to relax.

“In here,” he said as he went back to shaving. For a moment his only response was silence, and then Steve appeared in the doorway. Tony glanced at him in the mirror, and then did a double-take. Steve was staring at him, a peculiar expression on his face. Tony felt his face heat under the scrutiny, and he was suddenly very grateful for the flush already in his cheeks. He determinedly resisted the urge to glance down at his clothes self-consciously.

Finally he studied Tony’s face, and his expression morphed to one of concern. Steve frowned, “You look terrible.”

“Yeah. Well. It kind of feels like my insides are trying to crawl out of my insides,” Tony said. He tried for a carefree grin, but even to himself he only managing to look more tired, “but I bet you say that to all the boys.” Tony paused, cleared his throat. Steve glanced away briefly.

He looked back, and for a moment Tony thought that Steve was going to bring up this morning. Then his eyes fell on the razor on the counter.

“What happened to your razor?” Steve asked. Tony shrugged.

“I sneezed on it,” he said. Steve raised an eyebrow, confused, so he explained, “The Harvester virus was made to be airborne.”

Steve looked alarmed. “Is it contagious?”

“Only if you’re a toaster,” Tony said. “Where have you been?”

To Tony’s complete surprise, Steve actually looked guilty.

“I went with the police to try and get some information,” he said.

“You don’t seem happy about it.”

“They didn’t talk,” Steve said simply. “Frankly, I don’t think they knew anything.”

“Well, I’d trust your instincts on that,” Tony said. He rinsed the razor under the sink and then set it aside. “So what’s our next move?” he asked.

“I want to know why those guys were sent after us. They have to know there’s no use trying to scare us. If they’d wanted to kill you—”

“I’d be dead,” Tony supplied, when it became apparent Steve wasn’t going to finish. “Or at least have a few more bullet holes. Whatever they wanted, they either didn’t get it, or they did and _we_ don’t know it.”

“Either way, we’re changing rooms. I don’t like assassins knowing where to find us now that we know they’re looking.”

“It would be better to change hotels,” Tony said.

“Do you think we can get a room somewhere else on such short notice?”

“Probably,” Tony said. He stepped around Steve and into the bedroom, making his way over to the room phone. He could call around, see if there were any hotels nearby that had availabilities, preferably without requiring a credit card, since broadcasting where they’d gotten a room would completely defeat the purpose of moving.

The line crackled, and Tony hesitated, finger hovering over the nine. He gave it another beat, but the noised didn’t come again, and Tony quickly dialed the number for the front desk instead. Tony switched the phone over to his right hand and scribbled on the notepad beside the phone with his left.

 _The phone is tapped_.

“Hi, Tony Stark. In the penthouse suite?”

“If you’re inquiring after the damage charges, they’re already been applied to your bill.”

Steve pulled the pad over. _Are you sure?_

Tony shook his head no, not sure, and Steve frowned, glancing around the room. He left the pad there, and started pacing around the bed, eyes tracking around the room.

“No, that’s not why I’m calling,” Tony said, while Steve ran his fingers over the light fixtures, combed through potted plants. “That’s fine, I’ll pay the damages, but my room is a little,” Steve stripped the dressings from the bed, and then flipped the mattress up as well, “messy. I’d like to change rooms.”

There was obvious reluctance in the manager’s voice when he said: “I don’t’ believe we have any suites available.”

Tony didn’t believe him, but he didn’t argue either.

“A normal room is fine,” he said. “One the bottom floor, if possible. And two beds,” he added as an afterthought.

There was a pause. “Would Room 113 be acceptable?”

“Fine,” Tony said hurriedly. Steve turned away from the mirror, a little black bud in his hand and Tony scowled. Judging by Steve’s expression, it was a wonder Steve hadn’t crushed the thing.

“—you can come to the front desk to reassign your keys.”

“Right,” Tony said distractedly. “How late is the front desk open?”

“Until nine,” he said.

“Okay. Thank you,” he said.

As soon as he hung up the phone, Steve asked: “What happened to changing hotels?”

He handed Tony a sheet of note paper.

“I’m not convinced we need to change tonight. It’ll be easier to make a reservation for tomorrow. For now, we’ll just change rooms.”

_The same person?_

_If it is, they’ll act tonight._ Tony scribbled back.

“Desk closes at nine though, so we’d better pack,” Tony turned to his suitcase, and he didn’t have to fake a sigh. “I wonder if there are any clothing stores that will deliver at this time of night.”

Steve was already packing his things away into a suitcase, and Tony stooped over to help him pull together what they had—they were already traveling light, even more so now that most of Tony’s things had been destroyed. Once Steve had zipped his bag up, he grabbed the notepad off the desk and scribbled.

_We’re not staying in that room._

Then, he ripped out all of their notes, folded them up, and stuck them into his pocket. Tony shrugged, trying to convey of course not without having to say it outright, and then nodded toward the hallway. Even in the hall, Tony refrained from saying anything until they were nearing the elevator.

“We’ll get the room across the hall,” Tony said. “If they’re keeping tabs on us, odds are they’ll try something before we switch hotels—they won’t want to risk losing us entirely.”

“How much did we say, with those bugs in the room?” Steve asked.

“I’m pretty sure they have an extensive knowledge of how clueless we are on who they are and what their motives were,” Tony said. “At least now, they don’t know we’re coming for them. Or that we’re ready for them to come to us.”


	2. Chapter 2

The clerk was already reluctant to rent out the first room, and it took quite a deal of convincing and a considerable deposit on Tony's part to reserve the room across the hall as well.

To say this room was a downgrade from their previous suite would be an understatement. While this hotel boasted high-end rooms from the ground floor up, it was clear that they had placed them in their new room with damage control in mind. The furnishings were relatively sparse, the beds simple, and the window much smaller, supplemented instead with mellow light fixtures mounted on each wall.

It would serve its purpose, though. Tony dropped his bag on the floor and pushed the door closed behind them. Steve was already across the room, fingers skimming deftly over the windowsill in search of bugs.

Tony left him to it and leaned up to peer through the peephole. He could very clearly see the room, as well as a bit of hallway coming from either direction. It would work nicely, though only if they came in through the outside door. Tony had checked to see if the rooms on either side had been rented out to anyone, but both were vacant. That didn't prevent someone from sneaking into one of the rooms and then using the conjoining doors, but it severely limited the possibility. 

After all, the doors locked from the inside of the room as well, and Tony was fairly certain they would notice should someone try to force their way through.

"Clear," Steve said. Tony turned to look at him. "But if the other room is bugged, they'll notice when we don't go in."

"They'll notice if we remove the taps, too. It can't really be helped," Tony said. "How long do you think this will take?"

"No idea. Do you want first watch, or should I?"

"I can do it,” Tony said. He stole another peak at the hallway, paused. “This is glamorous work.”

Steve snorted. “True,” he said, heading further back into the room. He reappeared a second later with one of the desk chairs, “but hopefully it won’t be for nothing.”

“This would be a lot easier if I could use Extremis,” Tony grouched. He didn’t sit in the chair, but he did pull it around so that he could perch on the back of it and still see out the spyhole. “We could watch TV, and I could just keep an eye on the security cameras.”

“We wouldn’t watch TV anyway,” Steve said, sounding amused. Tony refrained from arguing, but turned to send Steve a look anyway. When he glanced over Steve was staring at him, looking not at all embarrassed for doing so. 

Tony tried to keep his discomfort off his face, turning to stare out into the hallway before Steve got it into his head that now would be a good time to start a conversation Tony never, ever wanted to revisit again. Steve might not have known how Tony felt about him before, but there was no hiding it now.

And he'd tried very, desperately hard to _not even go there_ , he'd perfected his just-friends attitude to an art form, made it through years and years of working together, and then Steve had gone and _cheated_ , and _kissed him_ and then asked to pretend it never happened. Tony may be the master of (maybe slightly self-destructive) denial, but this was a new level of unfair.

Tony had hoped that he wasn't quite that transparent, but the way Steve kept looking at him with sad, puzzled expressions told Tony that he'd already seen right through him and moved on to the Awkwardly Pitying stage of things —which, no thank you, that was exactly the opposite of what Tony's pride needed right now.

“Tony—” Steve started. 

“I’m hungry,” Tony interrupted, before Steve could begin. “Let’s order room service.”

“We’re not ordering room service,” Steve said. “This is a mission.”

“Fine,” Tony said, ignoring Steve’s disapproving look. He didn’t really care if Steve thought he wasn’t being professional, so long as he _didn’t_ bring up earlier. Tony didn’t need a reminder, or clarification, they could _definitely_ leave things as they fell. 

“Is there a mini fridge in this room?” Tony asked. There was a pause—probably Steve looking to see—before Steve replied. 

“Those things are stupidly overpriced,” Steve said, obviously not approving of that either, and Tony just shrugged.

“I’m an overpriced kind of guy,” he said. “Toss me a—hang on.” Tony stood up, pushing the chair to the side. “Someone’s coming. Wow. That was quick.”

He could hear Steve coming up behind him immediately, but Tony was too focused with the person who had just crossed into view, pausing at the door to their other room. Their face was turned away, so he couldn’t see them, but when she stopped in front of the door she glanced back down the hall, as though checking she wasn’t being followed, and—

“That’s—Vennema,” Tony said. He watched her stick something on the card reader, push open the door, and slip inside. “She went in.”

“Vennema’s in prison,” Steve said. He plucked his shield off the floor and nudged Tony aside to peer through the spyhole, but there was nothing left to see. “Are you sure it was her?”

“Positive,” Tony said, “and she’s going to notice that we’re _not in the room_.” Steve pushed the door open and past Tony, at the same time the door across the hall swung open as well. Vennema’s expression flipped from irritation to shock in an instant.

Steve caught the door with his boot as she tried to slam it on him, and forced it open with the hand that wasn’t already clutching his shield. Vennema fired two shots—Steve had his shield, he was fine, Tony told himself—not at them, but at the window, and then she dove through.

 _Great_ , Tony thought, as Steve dove after her. _More damages to pay for._

Tony took off down the hallway, cutting through the lobby and forgoing the revolving door for the emergency escape. He could see Steve further down the road, chasing after a speeding van, but he wasn’t going to catch it on foot, and they both knew it.

Tony jogged over to meet Steve halfway, and even at ten meters he could tell Steve was spitting mad.

“She got away,” he said. “How did she get out of custody?”

“I told you it was her,” Tony said. He was already pulling out the phone he'd borrowed from Steve.

“We have to go after her,” Steve said.

“You’d never find her,” Tony said cheerfully.

“What are you doing?” Steve covered his phone with one hand, pushing it down, and Tony glanced up and shook him off.

“I said _you’d_ never find her,” he said. “I could find her in my sleep.”

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy,” Steve said.

“I’m using the _phone_ , Steve, not my…well, I am using my brain, but _not for that_ ,” Tony snapped, stretching the phone out of Steve’s reach, “and will you lay off? Christ.”

Tony went back to tapping on his phone for a moment, and then cleared his throat. "Yesterday, when Extremis was still working, I put a tracker on all of the usual suspects vehicles, just in case. Remember the drones? How much do you want to bet they haven't found it yet?" Tony asked.

“If she’s still using the same vehicle—and I didn’t get the license plate, but it looks like she just picked it up out of the expo parking garage—I should be able to find it.”

Steve stepped out onto the street, and directly into the path of a teenager on a moped. For a second, the kid didn’t look like he was going to slow down. Steve would have been fine, but the poor kid would have been traumatized when Steve plucked him off his bike at twenty miles per hour.

Eventually he did slow to an irritated but curious stop, after Steve made it apparent that he wasn’t going to let the kid drive around. He stayed a good ten feet back—which, yeah, with Madripoor crime rates and Steve’s intimidating size, Tony would have been further back than _that_.

"I need to borrow your bike," Steve said. They had a limited amount of cash, mostly for the sake of being untraceable when they needed to—and, Tony supposed, for bribes. Steve shoved a handful of bills in the kids face, already picking up the helmet before he could agree.

"It's a scooter," the kid corrected, but he accepted the cash anyway and stood up. "Uh, am I gonna get it back?"

"Probably not," Steve admitted. He swung one leg over the scooter while the kid unbuckled the bag attached to the back.

"Right." The kid flipped through the bills, counting. He didn't look too torn up about losing his ride after seeing how much was there. "Keys," he offered, handing them over.

"Thank you," Steve said. "Tony?"

"No," Tony said. “Thanks, I’d like to retain my dignity.” Riding passenger for Steve on a powder blue scooter was possibly the last thing that Tony wanted to do right now.

"We don't have time for this," Steve said. He offered Tony the other helmet. "Come on, before we lose them completely." Tony held out for another moment.

"Fuck, fine." This just kept getting better. He snatched the helmet from Steve and sat. Steve hit the gas so quickly that Tony nearly lost his balance. He slid one arm around Steve's waist to steady himself. "This is humiliating," Tony said.

Steve ignored him. "Which way?"

Tony held on with one hand and used to other to tap at the phone, searching for any sign of Vennema. It took him a moment to find the right signal—and this would be so much easier with Extremis, when he could just _feel_ which one was right. There were still thousands of the drones scattered throughout the city, wiping out what remained of the Harvester, and all the conflicting signatures made it hard to focus on the one currently speeding away from them. Finally he found it, already several blocks away. "Cut through this alley, then head north."

"This bike doesn't have the horsepower to keep up with them," Steve warned, and really, why couldn't he just call it a scooter?

"You don't have to keep up with them, just stay close enough that they don't get out of range before we see where they’re going."

Steve cut right, barely slowing down when they came out the other end of the alley onto one of Madripoor’s busier streets. The traffic wasn’t flowing, but it wasn’t at a standstill either, and that was all they needed to weave through the throng of cars. 

Soon Tony had Steve exiting off the highway, the tracker signal inching farther and farther away from them on the screen’s display.

They followed the signal through a seemingly irrelevant part of the city, with no real idea on where Vennema was headed or why, until the signal made an abrupt change of course. 

"It's—ah, hell. Steve, they're leaving the city," Tony said. "Turn here."

"What?" Steve asked. Tony leaned forward and put the phone under his nose, and Steve gave it a quick glance before making his turn. "That's...it's just jungle out there, isn't it?"

"I'm going to wager a guess and say jungle? Yes. Evil lair? Also yes."

Steve growled in frustration—Tony could feel it rumble through his chest, and no, he was not going to be turned on by that while they were plastered together torso-to-hip on a _fucking powder blue scooter_.

"If we follow them now we're going to be pretty damn easy to see coming," Steve said.

"If we don’t, we'll lose them completely," Tony said.

There was a long pause. "You could—"

"If you are about to suggest that I get off here while you go on ahead, I will seriously hurt you, Rogers."

"You don't have your armor," Steve said.

"Keep driving," Tony snapped.

“Will you stop being so defensive? I’m just saying that it might not be the best plan of action—” 

Tony pinched him. “How about you stay behind, and I’ll go on ahead?” Tony asked. 

Steve didn’t respond to that, but Tony could practically feel the disapproval seeping out of him. Well, he could get the hell over it. Harvester Virus or no, if Steve thought that Tony was just going to stay behind and leave him to face whatever Vennema had waiting for them, he was out of his mind. Steve pulled out onto the main road leading out of the city, and the traffic lessened almost instantly. There really wasn’t much out there to see.

They drove for miles. It didn’t take long for the roads to morph from the well-maintained city pavement to cracking, hard-packed earth. The distribution of wealth in Madripoor was extreme, and the luxuries found in Hightown hardly extended to the rest of the city, let alone outside of it.

Tony didn’t know the entirety of the island by heart, but he did know that there was really nothing of interest for almost fifty miles outside of the city. Wherever they were headed, it was likely in the middle of nowhere.

Eventually the tracker turned off-road, heading out to some unseen destination deeper into the jungle. They were forced to slow down. The scooter really wasn’t built for off-roading—wasn’t really built for on-roading either, in Tony’s opinion—and it didn’t take to the forest floor very well. About a mile into the trees, the path they followed steadily became more wet and muddy. 

The ride was slow-going, but their path was clearly laid out ahead of them. 

After another mile, the tracker winked once, then vanished. Tony growled in irritation, holding the device higher as though to pick up the signal. 

“Something wrong?” Steve asked, slowing slightly. 

“The signal’s gone,” Tony said. 

“Out of range?” Steve suggested. 

“No, not out of range,” Tony said. “Just...gone.” 

Had they managed to find the tracker and destroy it? It was small, hardly noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. It looked like an ordinary wasp, and on top of that it was _motile_. The drones were amazingly useful in that way, and Tony couldn’t possibly imagine them finding a tracker that could just get up and crawl away. 

But if they had found the tracker, then they knew they were coming.

“Pull over,” Tony said. “We’ll walk from here.”

Steve obeyed, stopping underneath a tree that was wildly overgrown with vines. He pulled his helmet off, but didn’t get up when Tony did. He fixed Tony with a concerned look. 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked.

“If we keep the scooter they’ll hear us coming,” Tony reminded him. 

“Are you okay with walking that far?” Steve asked. 

Tony scowled. “It’s not that far.”

“Miles,” Steve said. 

“I can walk a couple of miles Steve! I’m not a damn invalid,” Tony snapped. He sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Sorry. I know you’re worried. I’m _fine_ , just—we can hide the bike here, under the brush in case we need to come back for it. But the longer we _sit here_ the more time they have to regroup, and the harder this is going to be.”

A muscle ticked his Steve’s jaw, but he nodded. “Fine,” Steve said shortly.

“Fine,” Tony said, thankful that Steve wasn’t going to argue with him now. He pushed past him, plotting a course on his phone for the last known location of the tracker’s signal. 

Steve followed after him, irritatingly close, but if they were trying to be quiet, a shouting match over Steve’s attempts to smother him was probably not the way to do it. Instead he picked up the pace, just to prove that he could, and walked in stony silence the entire way. 

It wasn’t until they were less than a quarter mile from where the signal stopped before they witnessed any sign of human activity, and they were nearly on top of the compound before Steve slowed down, forcing Tony to stop with him.

Steve put a hand on Tony’s arm to stop him and gestured silently to the side. Tony could see a clearing up ahead through the trees, so it would probably be safer to circle around the side of the base and put some distance between themselves and the tracks they were following.

They picked their way through the trees carefully, with Steve a few steps ahead of Tony. He tried to tread lightly, and to keep his breathing in check. It was humid, and the air felt heavy in his lungs. He was uncomfortably warm (he was already running a temperature, and he didn’t think being out in this heat was helping). 

They circled around for about a hundred yards, growing closer to the clearing all the while, and long before they stepped into the clearing Tony could see the compound appearing through the trees. 

It was enormous and more importantly, well fortified. There were barbed-wire fences around the perimeter, and though he couldn’t see anyone patrolling the yard, there were sure to be security cameras dotting the complex as well. 

The building looked brand new. It would have taken a long time to build, and a lot of resources. Tony frowned. A project this big would have been hard to hide, especially from him, when the Extremis could scan and analyze all of the work orders in Madripoor in an instant. 

But when he’d been tracking Vennema’s activity, there hadn’t been any indication for building plans, material acquisitions, labor—even in an economy like Madripoor, with under-the-table dealings as the business norm, a project this size should have thrown up a red flag _somewhere_. 

It was like they’d pulled their building materials out of thin air. 

Tony turned to Steve to say as much, but Steve just held up a hand, signaling him to wait. There was a long, drawn out pause before Steve seemed to hear something, gaze snapping around behind them. He grabbed Tony roughly by the arm and bodily pushed him back against the tree trunk. One hand brushed lightly over Tony’s mouth, signaling for him to be quiet. 

Tony swallowed thickly, nodding once, and Steve dropped his hand. Tony closed his eyes for a brief moment and tried to focus on _anything else_ but the fact that they were currently pressed together knees-to-chest in such a small space. _Fuck_ , if he thought it was warm before, Tony could feel Steve breathing, hot against his neck, and he had to force himself not to squirm.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, thank god, focusing on something else off into the trees. Tony strained to listen, but without Extremis to heighten his senses it was difficult to hear anything beyond the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. 

Instead he followed Steve’s gaze, to where he assumed the source of the noise was, and focused on that. Finally, Tony heard footsteps, the dull slap of muddy boots cushioned somewhat by the spongy earth. 

After another moment two men stepped through the trees, both of them wearing matching helmets and a uniforms too heavy for the heat, carrying both a rifle as well as a sidearm clipped to their belts. They looked like a routine patrol, a sort of laziness in the way they scanned the area, like they weren’t really expecting to find anything. 

No one knew they were here yet.

Tony glanced at Steve, and he was watching the men carefully as they wandered toward them. If they got much closer, they’d be sure to see them—the brush could only hide them so much, even if they weren’t wearing the gaudy colors of their suits. The guards were armed, and all Steve and Tony had at the moment was Steve’s shield. It would be better to avoid a head-on confrontation, maybe try to sneak around and catch them by surprise...

Steve seemed to agree, because he leaned around the tree to get a better look at them, eyes darting first to the trees behind them and then back to track their path. He shot Tony a warning look, pressed his shoulders back against the tree firmly as though to say _stay here_ , and then slowly crept further into the trees. Tony held his breath and stayed put—Steve could handle two of them himself, and Tony really didn’t need to ruin his plan. 

The leaves rustled off in the direction Steve had gone, so faint it was more likely the wind than anything else, but it didn’t matter. One of them still paused, turning to look for the source of the noise, and even if Steve wasn’t the one making it, the soldier was definitely going to notice the _supersoldier sneaking up on them_.

Tony grabbed the nearest discarded branch and snapped it over his knee. The resulting sound was like a shot in the silence, and both men turned back around to look toward where Tony was hiding, guns raised and instantly alert. 

“Who’s there?” one shouted. “I said—”

He was cut off mid-sentence as Steve stepped up behind him and rammed his shield into the back of his helmet. The force of the hit knocked him forward, and his companion had just enough time for a half-turn, gun raised to fire, when he followed suit. 

Steve glared off into the trees to where Tony was standing, making it clear what he thought of Tony’s problem-solving, and then bent over the closest man to check his pulse. He pulled the rifle out of his grip and tossed it to the side, then moved to relieve him of his sidearm and boot knife. He searched the next one the same way, and then picked up his radio, checking that it neither broadcasting nor switched on.

Finally Steve pulled the helmet off of one, turned it over in his hands once, and then held it up for Tony to look. Tony grinned. 

“Wow, a classic,” Tony said. He took the helmet and put it on. “Very _A New Hope_. How do I look?”

Steve smirked and looked him over. “You look good,” Steve said a little too honestly. 

Tony paused, his surprise hidden behind the helmet. He glanced at Steve, trying to read his expression, but he had already moved on to stripping the first guard out of his uniform. Steve tossed the jacket toward Tony, and it landed at his feet. “You’ll have to take this one,” Steve said. “It might be a little loose on you.”

Tony picked it up slowly. “It’s fine,” he said. Tony watched Steve for a moment, trying to decide if he was purposefully avoiding his gaze or simply focusing of stripping the unconscious guard out of his pants.

God, what had his life come to that that was even a question? 

Tony pulled the jacket on and then the helmet. They weren’t perfect fits, but they didn’t look too loose on him either, so it would have to do. The boots were his size, luckily (he really wasn’t looking forward to having to curl his toes to get them on), and the pants fit snugly. Tony clipped the man’s belt on before picking his rifle up from where Steve had tossed it in the dirt.

“What should we do with them?” Steve asked, hopping on one foot as he wrestled with a pair of pants that were a bit too small.

Tony glanced at the two men, now unconscious and stripped to their underwear. He felt a little bad for them, actually, but: “Tie them up and leave them here?” Tony suggested.

Steve frowned. “Do you think they’ll be all right? What if they’re...I don’t know, eaten by a tiger or something?”

Tony laughed. “I think they’ll be okay,” he said, “but if it makes you feel better, we can come back for them when we’re done.” While Steve finished dressing, Tony dragged the two men over into the bushes, where they’d be better hidden from view. 

Tony propped the second one up against the tree trunk and then leaned back against it to catch his breath—those bastards were heavy—while Steve took care of the tying. 

“So, how do we get inside?” Tony asked when he was finished. 

“Not through the front,” Steve said. “There’s probably someone at the gates, and if they’re not expecting the patrol back, or they happen to know these two in person, we’re caught. We need another way in. Somewhere without security cameras. Otherwise we’re finished before we’ve started.”

Tony hummed in agreement. “I think I can do that,” he said, because giving up now really wasn’t an option.

Extremis may not be _functioning_ at the moment, but it was still there. Even if he couldn’t access the cameras, as long as they weren’t set up in a closed-loop system, he should be able to tell where they all were. Hopefully there would be at least one blind spot to exploit, something someone had missed—there almost always was. It just… Tony thought back to earlier, simply trying to find the signal to make a phone call. 

Yeah, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

Tony gripped Steve by the shoulder, and Steve’s hand came up to his elbow automatically, steadying him. Steve frowned, confused. “Tony, what?”

Tony reached out to the Extremis, feeling for it’s presence. It was...not weak, but muted, like his systems were all in a fog. He flicked the connection open, forcing back the ache it spurred behind his eyes with a pained noise. He could feel the system buzzing already, even with all connections closed, and he squeezed Steve’s shoulder a little more tightly, only distantly aware of the fact that Steve’s arms were around him, shaking him lightly, telling him to turn it off.

He snapped all of the feeds open at once. The pain was white hot—it was blinding and disorienting and all too much at once, pouring in just like the data had when he’d first used Extremis, before he’d learned how to focus it. That’s what he did now, grit his teeth and exhaled a shuddering breath through his nose and forced the information to resolve into something, dozens or sharp pinpricks instead of a confusing mess, and then he slammed the feed closed and gasped. 

Tony blinked. 

He was laying on the ground, head cushioned in Steve’s lap. His head was pounding, but the pain was rapidly fading into memory now that the channels were all sealed tight again. He pushed Extremis to the back of his mind, to where he could just barely feel its presence. 

Steve’s hand was pressed firmly over his mouth, and Tony flicked his gaze up to Steve’s. When Steve saw Tony’s gaze actually focus on him, some of the panic left his face. 

“Tony?” he asked urgently, eyes searching. Steve pulled his hand away apologetically. “You were screaming,” he explained, looking at Tony with so much sadness. His hand slid down to Tony’s cheek. “I was afraid someone was going to hear you.”

“Sorry,” Tony said, moving to sit up. “I’m fine.” 

Steve’s thumb dug into the curve of his jaw, gentle but firm, and Tony stilled. “You’re really not,” he said. Steve didn’t raise his voice, but the tone was there. “What the hell were you _thinking_?”

Tony batted Steve’s hand away and sat up gingerly. “I was _thinking_ we needed a way inside. Now we have one,” Tony said. 

“That’s not an excuse!” Steve hissed, grabbing Tony by the elbow and pulling him back to look at him. 

“So what were you planning to do, just pick a strip of fence and hope it doesn’t set off the alarms?”

“We could have found another way in!” Steve said.

“How?” Tony challenged. Steve glared at him for a beat. “Exactly. Now come on, before these two wake up and cause us problems.”

“No,” Steve said. “You’re staying here.”

“Like hell I am,” Tony said. 

“You just _collapsed_ , Tony. You were in so much pain your _legs went out_ , you’re lucky I caught you before you brained yourself on a rock. You’re. Not. Coming.”

“I am if you want to get inside,” Tony said, because if Steve was going to be a stubborn asshole, well. Two could play at that game. 

“Tony,” Steve warned. 

“Steve, if you leave me here I will find my own way inside,” Tony said seriously. “You can go ahead and _bench_ me if you want, but if you think I’m going to sit out here with my thumb up my ass you’re wrong.” And then, because Steve was the kind of guy who just might call Tony’s bluff and try to bench him anyway, he added, “The Harvester virus was designed to reverse engineer everything it infects, which means that somewhere in there they’ve got a copy of my armor and the extremis on file and ready to use.”

“Then I’ll bring it to you, or destroy it,” Steve said. 

Tony resisted the urge to scream, though only barely, at the stubborn set of Steve’s jaw and the no-compromise tone of voice.

“You wouldn’t know what you were looking for if it hit you in the face,” Tony said, “and you _know_ it.” Tony could see Steve’s resolve wavering, just a little, so he added. “If I’m going to find a way to get rid of the Harvester virus anywhere, it would be _in there_.”

“Tony, please,” Steve said quietly. “I don’t want to watch you hurt yourself.”

“You won’t have to,” Tony said. He didn’t look convinced, and Tony put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Steve, I promise. Just—let’s get this over with.”

The gap in security was only a couple feet wide, where the outer range of two security cameras lined up perfectly where the forest canopy grew especially thick. The result was blank spot in the feed, hard to spot among the dark shadows from the overhanging trees. Tony could understand how it had been overlooked—it was almost impossible to reach it without passing through the camera’s field of view, and even then reaching it was slow-going. They walked single-file, Tony picking out a safe path while Steve followed carefully in his footsteps.

Tony stopped at the edge of the trees, half-turning back to look at Steve. 

“Here’s where we go over,” he said, pointing at the spot. “It’s not a very wide gap, so be careful. Once you’re on the other side, just walk straight and follow the bend of the building. As long as no one is looking to hard, we should be able to get inside no problem.”

“Should?” Steve asked. He tugged at the collar of Tony’s uniform, guiding him backwards so that he could step up into the spot.

“No problem,” Tony confirmed. Steve tugged his uniform shirt up over his head and peeled off his undershirt. Tony blinked. “Uh…why—”

“I’ll go first,” Steve said, yanking the uniform shirt back on again. 

The fence was roughly fifteen feet high, topped with strips of razor wire that ran around the entire perimeter of the compound. Steve rolled the undershirt up loosely and tossed it up. It arced up and fluttered open at the top of the fence, draping smoothly over the wires on its decent.

Right. The razor wire. Tony knew that. 

Steve made quick work of the fence, landing softly on the opposite side. He turned back to Tony expectantly. 

Tony wasn’t nearly as graceful, and he did his best not to rattle the fence too badly as he climbed. His muscles were already aching—from the walk, from the virus—and Tony blew out a harsh, uneven breath when he reached the top. He managed to snag his pant leg, despite Steve’s shirt covering most of the barbs, and had to pause to untangle himself, then to wrestle the shirt free from the wires once he was clear.

If anyone happened to look up and see the shirt draped over the wire, they would likely put two-and-two together and sound the alarm. He tossed the shirt down into the brush, out of sight.

He felt shaky all over when he dropped down next to Steve, like the climb had taken everything out of him. The uniform mask covered Tony’s grimace as he straightened again. Steve didn’t seem to notice anyway, his gaze turned toward the bushes on the other side of the fence—his posture told Tony that he was probably making a face at where Tony had discarded his shirt into the mud. Tony clapped him on the shoulder lightheartedly. 

“There’s an entrance around the corner up ahead. I didn’t get a good look where it leads—there was a lot of feedback,” Tony said. Steve frowned, and Tony ignored him. “It’s only a matter of time before they notice something is off, or realize that patrol has failed to check in, so keep an eye out.”

 

 

The side entrance was unlocked, probably to allow the patrols to come and go between shifts, and the two of them slipped inside unnoticed. Tony had a very vague idea of the building’s layout from the positions of the security cameras, and he directed Steve down the hall leading away from the front entrance. 

There weren’t nearly as many cameras inside as out, and Tony did his best to steer them clear of the ones they did come across while Steve kept an ear out for any other guards. Throughout the entire first level, they came across a grand total of three—found loitering at the other end of the hallway—and they passed them as quickly and casually as they could, sure that their disguises would work best at a distance.

Eventually they came to a stop at the end of a long hallway, where it forked left and opened up into a stairwell. Both directions were well lit, and Steve stopped to listen as though to hear which was the more popular route. 

“Downstairs?” Steve asked. 

“A basement in the jungle?” Tony murmured. “More than a couple of inches of rain and the whole floor is completely waterlogged. No, the servers are probably upstairs.”

“I think I saw an elevator back—”

Tony didn’t even see where it came from, just heard the quiet _beep_ before the glass door beside him exploded into the hallway, throwing Tony into Steve and both of them onto the ground. Steve scrambled up immediately, hauling Tony to his feet by the elbow almost before Tony realized he’d hit the ground. 

An aluminum can clanked down the hallway, and a plume of smoke streamed out its side. Steve shot forward to kick it back the way it had come, nailing one of the guards coming down the hall in the throat, but what little smoke had gotten out was more than enough to irritate Tony’s already suffering lungs. 

He broke into a fit of coughing, but not before he leaned over and pressed the door close, so that the electronic doors slid shut. Tony coughed hard enough to rack his entire frame, and he tossed his helmet onto the ground once he realized that it was keeping the smoke in better than it was keeping it out. The smoke stung his eyes, blurring his already watery vision, and Tony reached up to wipe it away. The entire right side of the hallway went dark, and for a moment Tony thought Steve had put out the lights, but no, he could see perfectly fine on one side, it wasn’t the hallway— 

_Fuck_ , Tony thought, pressing on the eye and blinking in vain, all too aware of the fact that Steve was staring at him with his stupid concerned face, probably worried about the cough, and not the fact that he’d just _lost vision in one eye_.

Okay, maybe the security camera stunt had been a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn’t be running around in a hostile environment with a computer virus essentially trying to eat his brain. And maybe Steve didn’t need to know that, either.

“All right?” Steve asked, squinting like he was expecting a lie. 

“I’ve been better,” Tony hedged, “and now they know we’re here. Come on, before they get that door open or decide to call their friends.”

“Your hand’s bleeding,” Steve pointed out. 

“Barely,” Tony said, holding it up for view. It was bleeding pretty heavily, actually, from where he’d nicked it on broken glass, but the cut itself was superficial, and even Steve could see that. 

Tony blinked a few more times, trying to adjust to his newly failing vision, but it didn’t get any brighter. Steve narrowed his eyes at him, and Tony stopped immediately. 

“We should go find that elevator,” Tony said.

Steve glanced at the door they’d just closed, and then in the direction they hadn’t explored yet. When he grabbed Tony by the elbow, offering (thankfully) silent support, Tony took it. They luckily found an elevator before they found a set of stairs, because Tony didn’t think he’d be up for climbing up however many flights of stairs they would need to climb to find the top floor. 

He had a vague idea of where they needed to go—but by now, most likely everyone in the compound knew where they were headed and how to head them off. Tony was a little suspicious with the lack of interception so far, especially when the elevator door opened without incident into an empty hallway. 

Even on a skeleton staff, Tony would have expected to find _someone_ wandering the halls searching for the intruders by now. Steve seemed to have noticed it as well, creeping more cautiously down the hallways and around corners. Either they would have a hell of a welcoming committee waiting for them when they finally found the server room or… what? They’d been ordered to evacuate? 

That wasn’t a particularly appealing option, considering that if they’d had time to evacuate, they’d probably had time to take everything important with them. 

When they reached a room with the door standing open, Tony hesitated. Steve dropped his arm, already raising his shield and heading for the room at a sprint. Whatever he’d heard or seen has set him off, and Tony hurried after him, one hand braced on the wall all the way. 

“Coward!” Steve shouted, when Tony stepped into the room. He caught a glimpse of two women as they disappeared in a flash of light, followed by a third who looked almost identical, glancing back, amused, before she was gone.

Then he saw Vennema, standing at the back of the room in front of a broad, glowing _portal_. She had one long scar running down the side of her face, setting all of her features off like an apple split down the middle and stuck unevenly together. 

Tony was _positive_ that she hadn’t had anything like that when he’d seen her last, and the injury looked much too old to have been acquired since he’d last seen her. Her eyes flicked over to him, and her lips parted in a crooked grin, before she took one step back and vanished. 

“Steve, _no_!” Tony snapped when Steve started after her, and thankfully he seemed to remember himself, fists flexing angrily at his sides. “She’s not worth it.”

“That wasn’t Vennema,” Steve said. 

“Actually, I think they all were. Alternate dimension,” Tony suggested, leaning heavily on the door frame. He considered the interior wall, just a few feet away, trying to gauge if he would rather try to move to it, and if he could get there unassisted. “Or dimensions, I guess. It would explain the portal...explain the...whole disappearing signal thing, if they went through with the tracker.” 

Tony stepped further into the room, eyes scanning briefly over the portal before they settled on the computer at the back of the room. Steve was standing, feet planted, brimming with energy like a coiled spring.

“So what now?” Tony prompted. He could tell that Steve wanted to follow her through, and beyond the fact that Tony really didn’t want Steve to do that, he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to follow in his condition. Tony took a lot of risks in his life, but there was only so far that he could go before he started putting Steve in danger, too. 

Steve gave the portal a long look, obviously weighing his options. 

“Kill the portal,” he said finally, “and find what we came for.”

“And Vennema?” Tony asked. 

“Somehow, I doubt this is the last we’ve seen of her,” Steve said. Tony nodded slowly. He could feel himself swaying pretty hard now, although he wasn’t sure if that was in his head or not, whether he was crashing from an adrenaline high or exhaustion or both. Either way, it caught Steve’s attention, and he was back at his arm in a moment, squeezing just a little too hard.

"You're not getting better, are you?" Steve asked. Tony considered lying.

“No, I’m not.”

“You said that the Extremis would take care of the virus,” Steve said, accusatory.

“I know what I said,” Tony snapped, and he knew that the anger was misplaced frustration, but Steve definitely wasn’t going to like this. He was running out of time. “I need to get into her computer.”

It took a little tugging, but eventually Steve’s grip loosened on his arm, and he helped Tony over to the chair behind the desk. Tony could immediately see that this was going to be difficult. 

The fact that he had one uninjured hand to type with aside, the computer’s security was well beyond anything that he’d been prepared for. 

This technology was…like nothing he’d ever seen before. He could keep trying to shut it down manually, but it was outpacing him every step of the way, locking him out and systematically fixing every weak point Tony found almost before he could find it. If he still had Extremis, maybe, if the system was weaker—

Oh. 

“I have an idea,” Tony announced. He didn’t look up, not entirely sure he could keep his expression neutral. “Steve, help me up,” Tony said, and Steve did without hesitation, because he _trusted_ that Tony would be able to figure out how to fix this.

“Where—”

“Down the hall,” Tony said, getting shakily to his feet and leaning far more on Steve than he needed to, just to prove to him that the support was necessary. When Steve had helped him over to the doorway, Tony paused.

“Steve,” he said, pulling back so that Steve was in front of him. 

As soon as Steve had turned, he leaned up to kiss him quickly, fiercely—and it was selfish, he knew, but this might not work and if it didn’t... 

Steve froze in surprise, and Tony liked to think that he was moving to hold him, not push him away, when Tony broke the kiss and leaned over to press his bloody hand against the door’s electronic lock. “Sorry.”

He could actually hear the lock short circuit as the door slammed shut between them, too fast to even see a reaction from Steve, but he heard something slam against the door a moment later, hard enough to buckle it just slightly. Even if he couldn’t hear anything else through the soundproofed door, Steve was probably shouting, too, attracting the attention of whatever guards were left in the building. He’d have to work quickly.

Tony hobbled over to the portal itself, using the wall mainly for support until he could drop down to sit at its base.

If the computer was too advanced to shut down himself, then his only option was to infect it with the Harvester, and shut it down that way. But then he would be leaving himself to die—an option he wasn’t particularly fond of—without finding a way to remove the Harvester from himself, first.

It was possible that if this computer did such a good job shutting down or fixing every threat that tried to breach it, maybe what he needed to do was link himself up and let the computer’s defenses work for him—or at the very least, give Extremis the boost it needed to finish the job. At least...in theory. Tony glanced back over his shoulder at the door, briefly, and then down at his hands. 

Tony stripped the paneling away from the bottom of the portal, and it came away clean, built for easy removal for repairs. He started stripping wires with his clean hand and teeth, careful to keep the bloody hand from making contact with anything.

Best case scenario, the nanites in his blood would carry the Harvester into the system, shutting the portal down in the process, and Tony would get a free tune-up while the computer tried to eradicate the problem. Worst case… well, at least the portal would be shut down.

He could still hear Steve pounding away at the door—could only imagine what kinds of things he was yelling at him if only Tony could hear. That was the main reason Tony had locked him out in the first place. He really wasn’t going to approve of Tony’s chosen method for linking up to the computer.

At least he was keeping his promise. Steve didn’t need to watch this.

Making a complete circuit wouldn’t be the problem, considering how heavily his hand was still bleeding—the Harvester had definitely moved on to inhibiting normal body functions, too. But god, was it going to hurt. 

Tony could hear the door behind him groaning in protest, and just faintly the sound of Steve shouting his name (boy, did he sound angry), so it was really now or never. Tony reached into the open panel and took a few wires into his hand. Current ripped up his arm, his hand clenched tight, and then numbness and nothing. 

 

A second—minutes? hours?—later Steve was pulling him away, yanking so hard on the back of his shirt that he slid a few inches across the floor. The portal, Tony noticed vaguely, was no longer glowing, though he wasn’t certain how long that had been a case. 

Steve was gripping Tony’s head in both hands, trying to turn his attention away from the portal and back to himself, so Tony finally snapped his gaze over to Steve. He looked, well, he looked furious, but more importantly he looked normal. 

As in, not blurry, no blind spots, _normal_. Tony grinned. 

“Worked,” he croaked, because his tongue was still a little numb (everything was still a little numb, actually, and he wasn’t sure if that was because he was tired or because he’d just taken a jolt to his already poor, abused heart.)

“I’m going to kill you,” Steve said darkly. 

“That—” Tony coughed, pushed Steve away so he could sit up, “would be a little counterproductive, don’t you think?” Steve let go of his face instead of crushing it, so he probably wasn’t _actually_ going to follow through on that threat, regardless of how serious he looked. 

Tony thought that if Steve pressed his lips into any thinner of a line, they’d disappear altogether. He also thought that he should probably stop staring at Steve’s lips. 

“Are you mad at me?” Tony asked. Steve scoffed. “Because that plan actually worked very well. No one died, I didn’t even—”

“You electrocuted yourself to shut off a portal,” Steve interrupted. “I could have pulled the plug to do that.”

“Yeah, but then I’d still have the Harvester.”

“You’d—what?”

“All fixed,” Tony said, flexing his fingers like that was some kind of indication that it was true. Steve blinked at him, still looking angry, but encouragingly less so.

Steve paused. “Are you sure?” 

“Well, I can see out of my right eye again—”

“As in _you couldn’t before_?”

“—and my head doesn’t feel like it’s on fire,” he said, ignoring Steve’s outburst. “Plus,” Tony reached out to Extremis, still slightly wary that it would backfire on him again. It welcomed him in like an old friend, and from there it was nothing to reach out to Steve’s communicator and send an alert. 

Steve pulled it out of his pocket, turning it over, but he looked happy—or at least, he’d lost the deep-seated worry he’d been carrying around in his expression since yesterday. 

Tony could hear voices down the hallway through the huge rend Steve had made in the door, though it was hard to tell whether they were moving toward them or away. He really had no interest in facing them, now that their boss had escaped into god-only-knew where.

“Can we go now?” Tony asked fuzzily. He was crashing hard—he could feel it, and Steve could see it as well. “Actually—can we yank the hard drive out of that computer and _then_ go? I want to sleep for a year.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said, offering him a hand up. “We can do that.”

He hooked an arm around Tony and dragged him to his feet. Tony murmured a quiet thank you and tried to shake him off, but Steve just tugged him silently toward the exit. He paused to rip the hard drive out of the computer with no amount of finesse, and Tony cringed in sympathy for the thing. 

They left the rest—technically, it was still infected with the Harvester, though it was no longer much of a threat. At the least it was contained, and far enough removed in the middle of the jungle that it could stand to wait for Tony to send more drones to deliver the complete antivirus. Steve didn’t seem to care about that in the slightest, and Tony found it hard to disagree.

There were several vans parked in the loading dock of the complex, and Tony made straight for it the first one. There was no way he was going to walk miles through the jungle, _again_ just so he could ride passenger on a scooter. At this point, he was so exhausted he would probably fall off, and Tony was no stranger to this particular brand of exhaustion, so the fact that he felt so wrung out was a testament to itself. 

“You can drive,” Tony said. “I’m just gonna…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely, and made his way to the back door of the van and crawled inside, laying out across the back seat. Heaven was horizontal, as far as Tony was concerned.

There was a long pause after Steve settled into the driver’s seat. “Tony,” he began, and then stopped himself. Tony waited, but the thought hung in the air, unfinished, until he started the engine. “Nevermind. Later,” Steve said. 

“Later,” Tony promised, already drifting off to sleep.

 

 

 

When Tony woke up, he felt _amazing_ , and the sheer relief at being able to breathe without aching was probably why it took him so long to realize that he was no longer in the back of a van, but in the scratchy, cheap hotel bed they’d been relegated to after their original room was destroyed.

Tony didn’t remember coming inside, and no matter how tired he’d been, he liked to think he would at least have a vague memory. Tony rolled over to stare at the second bed, where Steve was watching a movie, dubbed over in French, with English subtitles. 

When he shifted Steve turned to look at him, and his smile was nearly blinding, and more than enough to to make his heart skip. 

“Check out is in three hours,” he said, “and I already told Carol that we’re heading home today, but I could call her back if you don’t think you’re up to it.” He paused, and for a moment Steve’s expression took on a peculiar quality, and Tony _knew_ he was about to ask a question Tony didn’t like. 

Instead, he asked, “How are you feeling?” 

“Fine,” Tony said immediately. “Like a million bucks. Did you carry me inside?” The way Steve’s expression shifted between amused and embarrassed was all the answer he needed. 

“You were completely out,” Steve said, and he gave Tony that little worried look that said no, Tony definitely wasn’t off the hook for earlier, but the conversation would wait until he was up to Steve-approved levels of rested and recovered. Tony shrugged.

“You should have woken me up,” Tony said. He pushed the covers back. “I swear to god, Steve, if anyone got any pictures…”

“They didn’t,” Steve said seriously, and he couldn’t possibly be that confidant, Tony was going to find those in the tabloids for sure, “and I tried to wake you up. when I say you were completely out of it, I mean _completely_.”

Tony tried to scowl, but he wasn’t really that angry, and it was hard to pretend when Steve was staring at him with that stupid crooked smirk. Instead, he sighed and hopped off the bed for the bathroom, where he could at least tame the worst of his bedhead and get rid of this horrible cottonmouth. 

When he came back out, Steve was still staring at him, and as soon as Tony sat down on his bed again Steve moved to turn off the television.

“Tony, can we—”

“Talk? Yeah, yes,” he said.

Steve didn’t waste any time. “Why did you kiss me?”

“Why did _you_ kiss _me_?” Tony echoed.

“Why do you think, Tony? Because I wanted to—want to,” he amended. 

“You looked like you regretted doing it the second you stopped,” Tony pointed out.

“Because you didn’t kiss me back!” Steve said. “You pushed me off. I thought that was a pretty clear message that you were _not interested_. So I backed off.”

“Well,” Tony said, “that’s stupid.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but then _you_ kissed me,” Steve got up off the bed then, coming over to Tony, and he had to push back the ridiculous urge to slide further back on the bed so that Steve wouldn’t be crowding over him, but that would definitely send the wrong message, “and I think… we both had the wrong idea.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, when Steve sat down next to him instead, and Tony wasn’t about to sit around waiting for Steve to make the next move like some blushing virgin, so he just leaned over kissed him. It was gratifying, at least, how quickly Steve kissed him back. It was all too soon before Steve was pushing him back with a gentle hand at his jaw, but he didn’t let go, either, and Tony got the message pretty clearly.

"Hang on,” Steve said. “If you want this,” He paused, "and you _do_ want this?" He waited for Tony to nod. "Then why have you been avoiding me?"

"I thought you were going to turn me down," Tony admitted, "and I just...thinking it and hearing it out loud are two different things."

" _I_ kissed _you_ ," Steve reminded him. 

"Which would widely be considered a bad move," Tony said. "I just figured you'd realized your mistake, but I didn't want to hear it—I'm selfish like that—"

"Stop that," Steve said. "You always do that. Put yourself down. Put—put yourself in danger."

Tony just shrugged. “You’re gonna have to get used to it.”

“I’m gonna have to break the habit,” Steve corrected, leaning in again to kiss him. 

“Might take a while,” Tony mumbled, and Steve’s hand tightened, just marginally, a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’ve got all the time in the world.”


End file.
